


I waited but you must have lost your way

by iriswallpaper



Series: Heartaches By The Number [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cheating, Emotional Infidelity, First Time, Infidelity, John and Mary's Wedding, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Character, Season/Series 03, Stag Nights & Bachelor Parties, everyone is morally bankrupt, scenes in between/concurrent with S3 on-screen events, the day after the stag night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 08:58:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5491379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iriswallpaper/pseuds/iriswallpaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning after the stag night. Sherlock confesses his aborted plans for the stag night to John. John acts on Sherlock's plans with a great emotional impact afterwards.</p><p>Scene-based fics that are concurrent with events in S3. This is not an S3 fix-it fic.</p><p>HEED THE TAGS because everyone is morally bankrupt in this fic.</p><p>Title from the song "Heartaches by the Number," a popular country song written by Harlan Howard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I waited but you must have lost your way

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to arianedevere.livejournal.com for The Sign Of Three transcript that helped me greatly with his fic.

_With hopeful heart I waited for your knock on the door_  
_I waited but you must have lost your way._

 

“Wakey wakey!” 

John peered at the door of the brightly lit cell and tried to suppress the urge to throw up. It took a lot of willpower. “Greg. Is that Greg?”

“Get up.” Greg regarded John with a mixture of delight and contempt. “I’m going to put you two in a taxi. Managed to square things with the desk sergeant.”

John pushed himself up to his feet. The effort made his urge to throw up stronger. He looked over at Sherlock, still sleeping on the cell’s hard bench.

“What a couple of lightweights! You couldn’t even make it to closing time!” Greg intentionally pitched his voice so it would echo around the tiled cell.

John held up a hand. “Can you whisper?” he whispered.

“Not really!” Greg shouted this time, and Sherlock flailed to life, hands flapping in the air in front of him, eyes blinking wide. He pushed himself to standing and followed Greg and John out of the cell on unsteady legs.

When they’d checked out and retrieved their personal property, John tried for levity. “Well, thanks for a … you know. An evening.”

Sherlock groaned. “It was awful.”

“Yeah,” John sighed. “I was going to pretend, but it was. Truly.”

Sherlock groaned again, even louder. “I had plans. I calculated it all so carefully. We were supposed to remain pleasantly inebriated.” He paused and swallowed. “Goddammit. First we both got pissed, then that woman Tessa showed up. Ruined my plans.”

 

Side by side in the back of a cab, Sherlock let his head loll onto John’s shoulder. John glanced at the cab driver. She met his eyes in the rearview mirror and gave him a fond look. 

“Come back to my place,” Sherlock murmured. “At least for something to eat before you go home. Mary won’t expect you yet.”

John rubbed his eyes with both hands. “Okay. But only if you promise to eat, too.”

“Can’t.” Sherlock’s head lolled from side to side. “Might vomit.”

John huffed a small laugh. “Eating a little will help keep you from vomiting. Tea and toast. Or Coca Cola - even better for a hangover. Don’t supposed you have any Coke?

“Not that type,” Sherlock drawled. “Or any other type at the moment. In case you were going to get huffy about it.”

John laughed again. “Not today. Might even have tried some for myself if it would help this massive hangover.” John’s eyes roamed back and forth from one to the other of Sherlock’s eyes. “Are you still drunk?”

“A little.” Sherlock turned toward John, curling his body around John’s and fitting his face to the side of John’s head, his mouth near John’s ear. John glanced at the cab driver again. Her eyes were on the road.

“I had plans, John.” Sherlock purred in John’s ear. “Want to hear my plans?”

“Umm. Sure.” 

“I was going to let you fuck me. I wanted to give you that for your stag night. I’ve never done that before, and I deduced you’ve never either. Other things, with other men, yes. But never that.” He breathed into John’s ear and nuzzled the side of John’s head with the tip of his nose. “I wanted it to be you, for your stag night. Something no one else has ever done, something you’ve never done. The first.”

John shifted. He pressed his legs together. “Sherlock,” he whispered. The cabbie was still paying close attention to traffic. John checked once more, then slipped his hand under Sherlock’s coat. He squeezed Sherlock’s wrist. “And today?” 

Sherlock pressed his lips gently against John’s ear. “Today. Yeah, today.”

John moaned just loud enough for Sherlock to hear. He turned his head and pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s forehead. “Okay. Today,” he breathed.

~*~

“First, showers. Then food. Go on, you get first shower while I make breakfast.” John’s tone brooked no dissent. He went into the kitchen while Sherlock trudged into the bathroom. Of course the teapot and all the plates were dirty. He found bread and popped it into the toaster, started the kettle, and by the time the water boiled, he’d washed the sinkful of dishes. He made more toast and a pot of tea then buttered and spread jam on the toast and cut it diagonally. The water shut off in the bathroom so John arranged the teapot, plate and two mugs on a tray.

Sherlock was just getting into bed. nude, when John entered the bedroom with the tray. “Scoot,” he ordered. Sherlock slid over to the far side of the bed. John set the tray on the nightstand and poured mugs for each of them. He toed off his shoes then handed Sherlock a mug and the plate before climbing onto the bed to sit cross-legged facing Sherlock on top of the covers. They ate and sipped in companionable silence. When his mug was drained, John stood and handed the plate, containing the last half slice of toast, to Sherlock. “Eat this while I go take a shower. And don’t throw it away. I’ll check the bins. Eat it. You’ll feel better.”

Sherlock smiled sheepishly - John knew his tricks well. He rolled his eyes and bit into the toast.

~*~

John took a quick but thorough hot shower. He scrubbed his teeth and gargled mouthwash twice, too, then wiped the steam off the mirror and surveyed his face. He still didn’t have a razor and Barker Street, although he did now have a selection of clothing hanging in Sherlock’s wardrobe and pants and socks in his drawers. John had placed it all upstairs but Sherlock moved it down to his room. 

John felt the stubble on his jaw. Sherlock had shaved, but he wasn’t sure if Sherlock would mind John using his razor. He sighed and decided to skip it, then combed his hair carefully. He felt like a teenager going to his first dance; the butterflies in his stomach reminded him of hoping to get off in the backseat with whatever forgettable girl he’d invited to dances in those days. He straightened his spine, wrapped his damp towel around his waist, and turned to the bedroom…

...to find Sherlock asleep, curled toward the far wall. John sighed. Sherlock had mentioned that he still felt a little drunk, so John couldn’t fault him for drifting off. He dropped the towel on the floor beside the bed and climbed in beside Sherlock, spooning close and listening to Sherlock’s even breathing, thinking about the things Sherlock had said in the cab. He pressed his half-hard cock against Sherlock’s luscious arse and kissed between his shoulderblades. 

John was rewarded when Sherlock moaned and turned toward him. “Hello gorgeous,” John murmured and kissed Sherlock’s soft, parted lips. Sherlock squirmed forward to close the gap between their bodies. He pressed a knee between John’s legs and rolled his hips forward until John gasped into the kiss.

“Today,” Sherlock whispered. Chest to chest, Sherlock pressed John onto his back. He slung his long leg over both of John’s and undulated until the hardness between them lined up then rutted, hard, while he moaned into John’s ear. “Today. I’m going to give you what no one else ever has. The first girl you fucked wasn’t a virgin, was she?”

John breathed, “No.”

“You’ve never had a virgin before. While I’m certainly no virgin in any other way, I’ve never actually let anyone fuck me, John. You’ll be the first.” He rutted, his erection sliding against John’s, pressing hard.

John grabbed Sherlock’s hips in a hard grip to stop his movements. “Sherlock.” John’s voice was ragged. “This is enough. I’m fine with just. Oh, god, I’m close already.”

Sherlock kissed the side of John’s neck, leaving a wet trail up to his earlobe. He nipped the earlobe while he answered, “It’s not for me, John. Not enough. I want you. Inside me. I want to feel you, moving in me.”

John groaned and dug his fingers harder into Sherlock’s hips. 

Sherlock smirked into John’s neck. When he had his facial expression back under control, he slid to John’s side then turned away to rummage in the drawer of his bedside table. He fished out a condom and bottle of silicon lube and laid them on the bed beside his hip.

John remained on his back, watching Sherlock’s maneuvers with interest. Sherlock rolled to his side and John shifted to his side to face him. John stroked Sherlock’s cheek. “How do you want to do this?” he whispered.

A slow smile spread across Sherlock’s face. “Missionary. I want to see your face. I want to watch you fucking me.” Sherlock picked up the lube and squeezed a generous amount into his right hand. He reached behind while he leaned in to capture John’s lips once more.

“I can do that,” John murmured into the kiss. 

“Give me your hand.”

John slipped his arm around Sherlock’s waist, sliding his hand next to Sherlock's. His index finger stroked the smooth muscle ringing Sherlock's finger to the second knuckle. The area was slick with a light coating of lube. John teased with his fingertip, back and forth in light semicircles, stroking beside Sherlock’s finger as it moved in and out. Sherlock shuddered and moaned into John’s neck. John pushed his finger in beside Sherlock’s and Sherlock quaked from head to toe.

Sherlock moved his face toward John, mouth open. “Kiss me,” he moaned, and John mouth captured his in a messy, wet, open kiss. 

“You’ve never done. This?” John rasped.

Sherlock shook his head as much as he could against the pillow.

John pressed in his middle finger alongside his and Sherlock’s index fingers. Sherlock sucked in a breath through his mouth that switched to a moan when John employed his medical knowledge of anatomy, crooking his fingers to massage Sherlock’s prostate. Sherlock jerked and gasped.

“Too much?” John asked.

“No, god no,” Sherlock answered eagerly.

John pulled out, bringing Sherlock’s finger with his. He leaned over to retrieve his towel from the floor and wiped his hands then and gently rolled Sherlock onto his back. He knelt between Sherlock’s open legs. Sherlock tore open the condom packet and quickly rolled it on then stroked John with his already-slicked hand. John lifted Sherlock’s legs and pressed them upward then leaned forward, bracing himself on his right arm with hand planted beside Sherlock’s shoulder. He guided himself with his left hand, sliding in with shallow thrusts. Sherlock released his breath in a huff.

“Okay? Does this hurt?” John stopped moving with just his glans buried inside Sherlock.

“No, no. It’s...you’re in me, John. You are inside me.” Sherlock’s eyes shone, dark huge pupils nearly swallowing the pale blue iris. 

Remaining still, John smiled fondly down into Sherlock’s face. “Yeah. I’m in you.” The lump in his throat barely shifted enough to let the words pass.

Sherlock flexed his abdominals and pulled himself up to circle John’s torso with his long arms. He clung, breathing hard, his face buried in John’s chest. “In me. You’re in me,” Sherlock breathed into John’s skin like a benediction.

John lowered himself until Sherlock was once again nestled against the bed. He hooked Sherlock’s knees with his elbows and began to move, slowly, in and out in languid strokes. Sherlock continued his chant, mixed with soft moans, clinging to John, kissing and nuzzling John’s chest.

John released Sherlock’s knees. He dropped to his elbows, cradling Sherlock’s head and kissing him deeply. Sherlock locked his legs around John’s waist and met his thrusts, moving his hips with John, thrusting upward to draw John deeper. “Oh god oh god John,” He groaned.

John pressed his forehead into Sherlock’s sternum, hips stuttering as he came. He stilled, panting, and Sherlock straightened his legs, twining theirs together. John made to pull out but Sherlock clung harder. “Don’t. I want to come with you inside me,” Sherlock whispered as he threaded his hand between them. 

He jerked quickly, holding his body still to keep John inside. John watched, head still propped on Sherlock’s chest, and murmured encouragement. “Oh fuck Sherlock, yes. God that’s so. Hot, so hot.” Within minutes Sherlock's release pulsed hot and wet between their bodies. 

John collapsed beside Sherlock and wrapped him in shaking arms. He pressed kisses into Sherlock’s cheekbones, his brow, his temple. “Sherlock, Sherlock,” he nearly sobbed.

Sherlock opened his eyes and took John’s face into his hands. “John. It’s alright.” He kissed John’s cheek tenderly. “It’s more than alright. It’s brilliant, and fantastic, and marvelous.” He smiled brightly.

John buried his face in Sherlock’s hair, holding him even tighter, trying to control his breathing. He shivered. Sherlock stroked his back in long, soothing motions. At last John calmed and looked Sherlock in the face. “It felt like the first time. Like,” John swallowed and blinked. “Like never before.”

Sherlock traced the curve of John’s jaw, his fingers dragging on John’s stubble. “It was. The first time.” He pressed a soft kiss to John’s lips.

John laid his head against the pillow, giving Sherlock room to breathe. It should be dark, he thought to himself, first times happen in the dark. Instead the morning sunlight filtered around the edges of the drawn curtains and made golden patterns across the bed.


End file.
